


Home

by SighingWinter



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Family, Home, Implied Character Death, M/M, post- hobbit, what makes home
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-19
Updated: 2013-01-19
Packaged: 2017-11-26 02:51:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/645733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SighingWinter/pseuds/SighingWinter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It all ends where it started; in a hole in the ground.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home

It ended in the same way it began; in a hole in the ground. It was, in fact, the very same hole where this whole adventure started, only slightly less comfortable than it had once been. Dark eyes, hooded by loss friends and sleep gazed around, peering at the once familiar and precious things that lay over the living room by the fire. The sound of the deep green door closing in the faces of the Sackville-Bagginses brought only a ghost of a smile back to the weary owner’s face before he let his bags hit the ground and leaned his walking stick against the wall. A travel worn coat, which had at one point in time been considered very nice (ruined by troll snot, orc and goblin blood, sweat, and rain), was laid absentmindedly on one of the many hangings for coats. Large feet padded silently to the nearest room and there in the archway Bilbo Baggins stood. 

Unwillingly his gaze travelled around the room, momentarily landing on the armchair with a slightly smudged doily hanging on it. For a moment if he closed his eyes long enough he could still feel the presence of those who had once gathered in this very room, watching each other and the fire. His quite dirty feet led him to the right side of the fire place and after coaxing a fire into existence Master Baggins could do little up lean against the sturdy walls. It did not take much to recall the last person who had stood thus, peering down at the flames as a song of desperate longing and heart aching sorrow slipped out of his mouth, later to be accompanied by those who had travelled long ways to give their king aide. At first the Hobbit did not notice that he had begun to sing the now irrelevant tune, but when he did found that he could not stop himself or the silent tears that slipped out of once bright eyes and down his cheeks. 

Thorin had been a dwarven prince whom he had admired, respected, and longed for. A man who had shown him his strength of arms and heart, the depth of nearly every emotion possible, and a man who had died believing that the one who had given him his very essence had betrayed him. In the months he had travelled back to the Shire Bilbo had mourned and had fought with every breath to live. He refused to Fade like other Hobbits did- no he would live. He would live a long life, comfortable in this particular hobbit hole to the end of his days.

“But it will never be home again.” He said softly, for home for this Hobbit was many miles away in the company of twelve dwarves. Home was in the soft looks and gentle touches of a man with long dark hair that had streaks of grey. In the warm embraces of two young dwarves that were rather mischievous when bored. In the cooking and training of an oversized dwarf and on that had seen far too much death. In the over protectiveness of two older brothers as they made certain that their scribe brother was still alive. Home was in the teasing of a dwarf with a strange hat, the knowledge of the prince’s greatest advisor, in the light fingers of an outcast, and in the bitter medicines and the proud father. That was home.  
And as sure as the stars were lost with the rising sun Bilbo Baggins’s true home was lost to him and all he had now was the remains of comfort. 

 

“I’m home.”


End file.
